


Tyranny of Secrets

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fucking, Kissing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pillow Talk, SaulxCarrie, Saurrie, Smut, age gap, deep sex, porn no plot, purely porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: It's always been different with Saul. . .Or, Carrie visits Saul in his hotel room in Islamabad.





	Tyranny of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season four, around episode three, when Saul comes to Islamabad to deliver Carrie's security team.

For most, secrets create a chasm.

For most, secrets divide and conquer.

But they are not most. With them, it is different. When together, they reside in silent spaces where secrets rise and fall around them as easily and with as little thought as it takes to breathe. 

He knows her knock on his hotel door and admits her to his room without any pretense. He's in a thick, white, terrycloth robe and seems to have just come from the shower. "It's late," he says and closes the door. 

"I knew you'd be up," Carrie says. She's already shrugged out of her headscarf and jacket, and tosses her pocketbook with them on the floor. Her hands find the belt of Saul's robe and pull him toward her as she undoes the robe. She looks down and then up at his face. Shrugging, he smiles mischievously. He's already hard. The flesh of his prodigious cock is dusky with arousal. It seems to respond to Carrie's gaze and springs up against his belly, fully erect. 

"You were right," he says. "I am indeed up." He lowers his mouth to hers and her breath catches as his lips press hers open, as his tongue seeks hers. As aroused as he already is, he is almost painfully gradual in how slowly he escalates their passion. He is in control as he walks her to the bed and doesn't stop kissing her for a moment, even as he unbuttons her blouse, and strips her out of her jeans. 

Carrie wraps her arms around his back as he sinks into her. It's been forever. It's been no time at all. She remembers their join like she remembers her own reflection. The hotel sheets are fine, almost silky against her backside. It crosses her mind to tell him he knows how to pick a nice hotel, but then he presses that spot deep in her with his slow, steady thrusts and she forgets just about everything else.

It's always been different with Saul. With Brody, sex was athletic, almost aggressive in the way her body craved back then. Maybe she craves it now; she doesn't know. She's not been with anyone since Brody, since Frances was born. She's saved herself, held herself away for the ghost of a memory. Even now, as Saul puts an arm beneath her hips to fuck her more deeply, she should feel she's betraying the father of her child.

But she does not.

Because with Saul, it's different. It's happening, but it's not, just like all the other things that have happened but are never spoken about between them. Secrets bind them. To silence, they belong. 

He's heavy on top of her, practically crushing breath from her and she loves it. She imagines the bed is a shallow grave, and he is earth being heaped on top of her, covering all of her sin, all of her secrets and if feels so good, deliriously good, so fucking good she could cry and is surprised she's not. Without even realizing it, she attempts to speed their pace; wriggles and rotates her hips beneath him in a half mad dash to reach the finish line.

He groans into her ear and says, "What do you think you're doing?" Then he subdues her by holding down her shoulders, arching into her and holding very still, knowing he's cantilevered a perfect pressure directly into her clit. Carrie feels the sparks of her orgasm build, but then he backs off and continues the way he wants. 

Saul fucks her slow. He cajoles her climax over the course of an hour or more, so when she does finally come, it's not just an orgasm but a catharsis that twists ecstasy from every inch of her body. He controls himself with masterful ease, taking his pleasure as though he relishes a seven course meal. Every suck of her earlobe, every bite of her neck is perfectly orchestrated and timed with her mouth searching his clavicle, or her nails raking his back. It is as though he has rehearsed and memorized every play to bring them both to the point of no return. She contemplates hating him for this canned version of intimacy, for his manipulated maneuvers.

But she can not. 

Truth is, it's nice to lose control, to have someone else assume responsibility for every wild pulse of her pleasure. She'd never say it out loud, not even to him. It's yet another secret they breathe in the dark between them. 

After he is certain she can come no more, he allows his own release. He comes savagely hard, but ponderously slow and sucks on her nipple as his body shudders into hers, more times than she can count. She clings to his pleasure wracked body with arms and hips until, with a satisfied lick of her breast and a happy grunt, he rolls off of her. 

"How long has it been?" He asks. "Since we've done that?"

"Dunno," she sighs. "I lost count."

She curls her back against his chest and he pulls her body closely into him. He kisses the nape of her neck and takes a deep breath of her hair. "I missed it," he says. "I missed you." 

"Mmmh," Carrie murmurs and wiggles her ass against his groin which is sticky from their fucking. She grabs his hand and holds it against her heart which has slowed from its rampant rabbit race. 

"You felt good," he whispers. "Better than good. Like a dream. Fuck, I'd forgotten how good you feel. Almost had given up hope it would ever happen again."

"I'm sorry. I haven't known how to talk to you," she says and rolls onto her back. He props himself up on his elbow and stares down at her. His eyes shine in the dark and encourage her to continue. "I haven't known how to talk to anyone, really. There's only one thing I want to talk about and it's classified. Can't even talk to you and you were the only one. . ." her voice trails off. She clears her throat. 

"I know," he says and drops down onto the pillow beside her. She turns to face him and sees the question painted in the shadows across his face. 

"There hasn't been anyone else. Not since. . ."

"No?"

"Nope. Well, I mean, I was disgustingly fat and pregnant for what seemed like forever. And then it's just been work. So, you're the first," she swallows and licks her lips. "The first since, since then." It's all the detail she can offer. 

Saul seems to accept her declaration with a curt nod and then says, "You don't feel like you had a baby."

"Saul!" She chastises. She gives him a little slap. 

"What?" He chuckles and strokes her belly.

"I'll have you know I am back to my pre baby weight, give or take five pounds, thanks to a strict running routine."

"Nah, you look fantastic, but that's not what I meant." With a deepened voice, he continues, "I wondered. . . well, I wondered if it would feel, you know. . . different? Inside."

"I had a Caesarean, for fucks sake, Saul," she says and takes his hand and drags it down to the scar which is still raised and slightly bumpy. "Gave me this and made me bleed, but didn't affect my pussy at the end of the day."

"Good to know," he says.

When she feels his breath slow, and figures he's asleep, she slips from the bed. Grabbing his shirt, she tosses it on. It's big enough to fit her almost like a robe. She doesn't bother to button it as she steps out onto the balcony with her cigarettes and lighter. While the sheets may have been lovely, it's not much of a view. She extracts a cigarette and tamps it against the crystal of her watch. 

"When'd you start smoking?" His voice is too velvet to startle her. 

"Thought you knew everything about me," she says and turns to face him. He's put on his boxers and a gray tee shirt. She smiles at the sight of him, although she wants to cry. 

"Turns out we're both tyrants when it comes to keeping secrets," Saul mutters. He raises his brow in an expression so familiar it would nearly cleave her heart in two, were her heart not already smashed to bits. "You coming back to bed after that?"

"Saul," Carrie starts. She places her hands on the balcony rail behind her, and her shirt (his shirt) opens to reveal gleaming, pale flesh. 

"Come on," he tries. "Stay the night. We'll order breakfast in the morning and have it in bed." He traces a line up from her navel to in between her breasts.

"I can't. I've got to go back to work. People will notice if I'm not there."

Saul puts his hands on her waist. She is small enough he can practically encircle her waist with his hands. He leans down and kisses along her jaw, up to under her ear. He pinches her chin and angles her face up so he can devour her mouth, but for all his hunger, his lips are soft and gentle. For a while, he stands holding her with his hands moving up and down her back, beneath the shirt. "You still look good in my shirts," he says.

"Go home, Saul," Carrie whispers as she lights her cigarette and turns from him to face the night. The fetid breeze rustles through her hair. His shirt slips and reveals her creamy shoulder. 

"I am home," he says and shrugs. With a sad smile, he kisses her shoulder.


End file.
